Finding Proof
by Phosphorescent
Summary: "I can't help but wonder how many chances the universe is going to give us before we run out," Brennan murmurs. Tag to 6x22.


_Disclaimer: I own Bones… on DVD. I do not, however, own the actual show. No copyright infringement is intended by this fanfic. It is written purely for enjoyment, and the only profit I am making from it is the betterment of my writing skills._

_WARNING: This fic contains spoilers for the last two episodes of Season 6._

_A/N: Everyone has written a fill-in-the-blank scene explaining how B&B came to be in the family way by 6x23, but I couldn't resist the urge to write my own version. Hopefully this fic manages to say something despite its similarity to so many others._

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><p>That night, Brennan dreams of Mr. Nigel-Murray's death. Only, part-way through the dream, it becomes <em>Booth<em> who is bleeding out on the floor, and she's back in the Checkerbox.

She frantically tries to stop the bleeding, mind spinning and heart pounding. Her breaths are shallow and she can't breathe, oh _God_, she can't breathe.

He can't die. He _can't_.

She reassures him of this fact.

"You're gonna do this. Come on!"

Orders him.

"_Come on!"_

Begs him, her words half a mantra, half a prayer.

"Come on, Booth! It's gonna be fine, come on, Booth. Come _on_, Booth…"

Feels her heart rip open and the world drop out from under her feet.

"No. _NO_, come on, Booth…! _COME ON, BOOTH!_"

He bleeds out under her hands and there's nothing she can do.

–—– –—– –—–

Sitting in the sterile, white hospital room. Purgatory.

The doctor comes out. "I'm so sorry."

No.

_No_.

"We did all we could, but Mr. Booth didn't make it."

Obviously the man is lying.

She stares blankly at the wall.

Booth is fine, of course he's fine. He's _always_ fine.

"Brennan?" Angela asks her.

It is only then that Brennan realizes that she's been furiously shaking her head.

"He's wrong, Angela," she says. "Booth's alive. Tell him! Tell him he's wrong."

"I'm so sorry sweetie," Angela says, tears running down her cheeks. The artist tries to embrace her, but Brennan shoves her away.

"You," she tells the doctor shakily. "You are a liar."

"I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am," he tells her sympathetically.

"I want to see him."

"I'm afraid that isn't possible."

"The hell it isn't!" Hodgins snaps, coming forward.

"I'm sorry, sir. Hospital procedure," the doctor responds.

Desperately, Brennan pleads, "Please, I need to see him."

An apologetic look.

"You don't understand. I need to see him. _Please!_"

–—– –—– –—–

Two weeks. Hell.

–—– –—– –—–

She wakes up shaking.

A glass of water later, Brennan crawls back into bed, unable to still her trembling hands.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

Only it almost wasn't.

Never has she been so glad to have Booth lying beside her, his heartbeat reassuring proof of his continuing existence.

–—– –—– –—– –—– –—– –—– –—– –—– –—–

Booth isn't sure what rouses him from his slumber. Ever since his army days, he's been a light sleeper. Then he notices that Bones' breath is ragged, irregular, and altogether much louder than normal.

"Hey," he whispers groggily, turning over to face her. "What's wrong?"

"It could have been you yesterday," Bones whispers into his shoulder, her finger gently tracing a spot on his chest. Something warm and wet falls on his tank, and he feels her shaking slightly in his arms. "It almost _was_ you."

He rubs her back soothingly and says, "But it wasn't."

"Although I rationally know that one day you will die, as all living organisms must, I don't think I could have borne it if you had died on me again," she says. Then, letting out a watery, strangled laugh, she adds, "And I can't help but wonder how many chances the universe is going to give us before we run out."

"Hey," he tells her quietly, drawing her more snugly into his arms, "we're gonna make it, OK? We've gotten this far."

"Booth," she says seriously, turning to meet his eyes, "I was wrong."

He waits for elaboration.

"Doing the same things over and over will not necessarily produce the same results," she continues shakily. "You and I… we've been going through the same motions ever since we met – and with similar results, it's true. But I made an error; I forgot to calculate for external factors. We can continue along our same paths, but that will not guarantee that our world will remain unchanged. I am a scientist; I can admit when my conclusions are incorrect, and my hypothesis was flawed from its conception."

"What are you saying?" he asks.

"Do you…" she hesitates.

He looks at her curiously, and the intensity of her gaze takes him by surprise.

"Do you love me?" she asks at last, her voice a mere thread.

And maybe it's an unfair question, maybe it's cruel, but it's _honest_, and for some reason, her voicing these words heals the last of his anger.

"Yeah, Bones," he says quietly, almost resignedly. "I do."

And then, in the stillness of the early morning, she closes the distance between their lips.

This kiss isn't one borne out of desperation or lust, out of blackmail or even out of a desire for comfort. It tastes of love and faith and acceptance. Of homecoming.

When they draw apart, she murmurs in a low voice, "I feel similarly."

"You do?" he asks, unable to believe that what he's wanted for _so long_ is finally within his reach.

"I wouldn't say so unless it was the truth, Booth," she replies.

And that's what nearly seals it for him. Bones doesn't lie, _can't_ lie.

Yet it all seems too good to be true. Maybe he'll wake up tomorrow morning to discover that all of this was a dream. And he can't – he _can't_ – have his heart broken again.

"You love me," he says wonderingly, trying the words out on his tongue.

"Yes," she says simply.

"I… I can't do this unless you're _sure_," he tells her, feeling incredibly vulnerable. "We've gotta be on the same page this time, Bones."

She takes his face in her hands and gazes at him seriously, fiercely.

"You are a good man, Seeley Booth, and I love you. And although I still feel that some of my initial apprehensions about a romantic experiment between the two of us remain valid, I find that I am far more afraid of living without you than I am of living _with_ you."

This time he closes the distance between them.

The kiss starts out slowly, but rapidly consumes both of them. And although he has always meant for their first time together to be leisurely, he belatedly realizes that their clothing has already vanished in a haze of lust.

And as they move together – not _becoming_ one, as he had promised years ago, but formalizing their oneness – Booth offers solid proof of his desire and love for her. She reciprocates. And it is nothing like he had imagined, but it is them and it is _real_, and that makes it better than any fantasy.

When they collapse back against his bed, sated, Bones asks with uncharacteristic timidity, "What does this mean for us?"

"Everything. Nothing," he replies. "We're still us, we're still Booth and Bones; we're just _more _now."

This seems to satisfy her, as she nestles closer to him again.

Later, there will be details to figure out, reassurances that will need to be given. But there _will_ be a later, of that Booth has no doubt. They have time now; they have a future.

Bones drifts into sleep beside him. And, lulled by the soothing rhythm of her heartbeat, he follows suit.


End file.
